


Grounded

by Mismaed



Series: Junkrat Drabbles [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: I cant remember how to write anymore, hints of roadrat, so this is trasshhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:51:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mismaed/pseuds/Mismaed
Summary: Sometimes, Junkrat gets mad.





	

Warm wind made its way through Junkrat’s hair as they sped down the highway, taking the thinned, damaged locks and tangling them while blowing about. It was a soothing sensation, almost like being pet. If he closed his eyes, Jamison could even feel strong fingers rubbing over his scalp, soft blankets sliding over his face. “Soft.” He commented to himself, not to be heard over the roar of the motorcycles engine, likely not intending to. There was no guarantee he’d even meant to say it out loud, or even realized he had. 

Leaving his eyes shut, chapped lips continued to move and form words which ultimately would be lost to the sounds of air howling by and the vehicle's exhaust, despite the traditional loudness that came every time the former junker spoke. He payed no mind to his own words, and instead allowed them to follow whatever train of thought had begun.

Soft blankets were some pretty nice things. There had been a really nice set back at one of the motels they’d stayed at only a few days ago. Granted, the holes in the sheets were likely something some would complain about, they failed to bother Fawkes in the slightest- a fact which was quickly relayed to the driver in a fragmented sentence. 

“They weren’t all that bad, ey Hog!” The shout was met with little response as Roadhog spared a slight glance to the passenger of the sidecar. Through the mask, it looked as if he hadn’t even moved.

“Almost wish we’d’ve brought ‘em with!” It was all shouting at this point, words which could just barely be heard over the sounds of their travels, but it would quickly die down enough to return to the ‘does he even realize he’s talking’ volume. “Soft… soft things.” Regardless of whether Junkrat was attempting to communicate, whatever sounds he was making were once again lost to the wind, and Roadhog focused on the road in front of him. It was likely just the usual chaotic gibberish anyways.

Unaware of his lack of audience in both his partner and himself, the twig of a man occupying the yellow sidecar prattled on.

It started with the sheets, commenting on everything from the texture to the fanciful blue color which had made up it’s fibers, to how easily he predicted they would burn, going into a variety of minor details all without once specifically identifying that blankets, of all things, were the topic of the conversation. As was traditional for the younger of the pair, his speech and thoughts alike followed little to no pattern, jumping forwards and falling back within the span of seconds.Within five minutes he’d covered all from bedding to fruit and hot water, doorknobs and then back. The only connection each object Junkrat’s attention brought him to was in the fact that all were foreign luxuries to him, simple yet lavish treats that he’d only experienced a few times in his lifespan.

They were coming upon a town now, houses once barely visible in the distance slowly growing into clarity. Buildings anchored into the hillside, looking as though they’d almost been built atop one another until one came close enough to see the entirety of the village was perched precariously along the slope. The homes here were massive by Junkrat’s standards, narrow yet tall enough to have four or five floors under the terracotta covered roofs. There were likely at least ten individual rooms per house. Hell, that was enough to house more than a dozen Junkers in each building- until they started arguing and tearing the place apart, at least.

A handful of children were playing in the slim patches of grass which served as yards for the residential area, and as they made their way through the center of town they migrated into the streets. Overall there were more people than Jamison would have liked, and he curled deeper into the sidecar, pulling the hat he’d been wearing to hide his hair further down. 

“Crowded here.” He commented to the driver once they pulled into a gas station. Fuel was the entire reason for this side trip, else they’d still be following the spiraling mountain road along the coast. Roadhog had removed his mask a few miles back, sometime when Jamison had been lost in thought no doubt, and this time the smaller of the duo could see when his words were acknowledged with eye movement. Mako wasted no time in fueling the bike, keeping close watch on the road as well as Jamison, who had hopped out of the sidecar and was scuttling into the store itself. 

It was styled like any other, the interior filled with shelves and coolers- there was even a fair variety of snacks on display. The lanky man wasted no time in ducking behind one of the shelves to begin examining his options. Little time had passed before he’d give up on one aisle, instead wrapping around the corner to the next. By the time Roadhog made his way into the store Junkrat was set to go, arms filled with an assortment of chips, sweets, and a few more lighters than even he likely needed. The stash was laid out on the counter before a worn looking cashier who immediately set to work ringing up the purchase. If Junkrat had it his way, they wouldn't be paying for anything, simply taking what they wanted and driving out after casually sending the joint up in flames. Roadhog had reminded him that, at least for now, they were laying low, and drawing attention by even stealing food was the last thing they needed.

Drawing attention, it seemed, wasn’t something that mattered to another patron of the store- a boy looking to be in his late teens loudly complaining about the prices of fuel hiking again as he entered with a small group. Curious as ever, Junkrat turned his head to watch them stroll to the counter.

The clothes were pretty damn decent- he noted- shining shoes and expensive shirts. Hell, the one that wouldn’t stop complaining was dressed well enough to pass as suit on his lunch break, if it weren't for the lack of age in his features. Probably the kid of one then, Junkrat mused.

“It’s so stupid dads making me drive this old thing. HE gets to have the latest models while I'm stuck here with this old trash, stuck paying to recharge at a station when I could be out there with one of the latest reactors.” 

The newcomer continued on like this, earning himself a glare from the arsonist. Damn ingrate didn’t know shit about how swell he had it, the damn brat. Hell, he probably lived in one of those huge houses they saw before, got to sleep on clean sheets every night and had a maid or a cleaning drone or some shit to pick up after him. Clean water and hot food at least once a week- every day more like. Never had to struggle to find food or eat one of his own dead companions to survive that sure as hell was certain. 

Fuck, it made him so mad rat could just, just-

A large hand settled heavily on Junkrats head, halting his thoughts in their tracks. Looking up, Jamisson comes face to face with his hired bodygaurd, eyes for once not shielded by the thick lenses of his mask. They stand like this for a few seconds, before Mako finally lets out a low grunt, and turns to pay the cashier. 

Feeling substantially calmer once again, Jamison follows the other out to the bike to get on the road once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't care anymore


End file.
